Are You Gay, Mr Grey?
by fiftyshadesfreak
Summary: After getting engaged, our favorite couple has been making an effort to get to know each other better. But what happens when Christian learns that his sweet, innocent Ana has a certain sex fantasy and wants to make it into reality for her? Set after Fifty Shades Darker. Reader discretion is advised. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just something I couldn't get out of my head...Hope u like!**

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"Hmmm. Okay okay okay. I got one…Favorite condiment?"

Christian throws his messy head of hair back and laughs hard enough that the whole bed shakes. When he looks back at me, his gray eyes are bright and alight with childish mirth.

"Condiment?" he repeats, completely amused.

It's beyond endearing to see him in such a carefree mood, especially knowing how rare these moments are. But luckily, that's how he's been all morning.

It's been a week since his birthday and our engagement, and since then, Christian and I have made a sort of pact to get to know each other better, down to the smallest of details. We've agreed to ask each other at least a few questions a day, but it's only our third day of doing it so we're really still just getting started.

Now, it's Saturday. We made slow, lazy love and had breakfast in bed. Rain is pouring beyond the curtains which we have drawn. The TV plays in the background. Even Christian's Blackberry has been silenced. So far, it's looking to be a perfect day.

Except Christian making fun of my choice of questions that is.

I swat him, hating the fact that I can't stop the grin from spreading across my face. "Yes. Condiment. I cook for you, you know - it's a valid question."

He chuckles some more, running his hand through his hair. "Okay." He puts on a show of turning serious. "Condiment…I guess my favorite condiment would have to be…mustard."

"Mustard?" I make a face.

"What? You don't like mustard?"

I shake my head. "Honey mustard, yes. Normal mustard, no."

"Okay then, what's your favorite?"

I think for a second. "Mayonnaise."

"Mayonnaise?"

"Something wrong with mayonnaise?"

"No, I just sort of had you pinned for a ketchup girl," he says, smirking, his good mood radiating out from him until it feels like it's surrounding me too. I feel almost buoyant, like I might start floating away. It's a feeling I could most certainly get used to.

I roll onto my side and prop myself up on my elbow. All I'm wearing is a pair of panties and Christian's white button down shirt that I took off of him last night. But it doesn't even cross my mind to be self-conscious right now. In fact, I've never felt more beautiful with someone else than I do laying here with him, talking about condiments of all things.

"Okay. Next question. Favorite subject in school?" I ask. That's how most of these questions have gone so far, sticking to our 'favorites'.

He thinks. "History and government. But I also liked trig and calculus. Love angles and protractors."

"That," I say. "is so very mustard of you."

He starts laughing again, making me join in. When it ebbs away this time, he asks, "I'm going to assume I already know your favorite?" I nod. Of course, I majored in English and Lit so it's obvious what my favorite subject has always been. "Okay," he says. "Then how about…your _least _favorite subject?"

I don't have to think about that one. "Ugh. Science. Of all kinds. Bio, chemistry, physics – I hated it all. There's just something about it that my brain literally repels. So glad it's over." I consider my next question. "Favorite word? And it can't be a swear word."

"My favorite word?" he muses to himself. "Damn, baby. You really make a man think outside the box."

I shrug. "Boxes are overrated." He smirks, continuing to think.

Finally, he answers. "Pernicious. Because it sounds like something pretty but really is all malicious and dangerous."

"You like a word because it looks deceiving?" I clarify and he nods.

"What about you?"

I chew on my lip for a moment. "Omphaloskepsis," I say. "The art of studying your belly button. Because that's what I totally would have preferred to do instead of learning how to actually spell that damn word."

Christian erupts with a huge belly laugh, no doubt the loudest I've ever heard from him. The sound goes straight to my heart, knowing how rare it is to see Christian laugh at all and storing this moment away. A giggle escapes me, watching as Christian tries to compose himself, wiping a tear away from his eye from laughing so hard.

"I learned it while studying for my SATs back in high school, and it's the one word I've never forgotten after all this time."

"The art of studying your belly button?" he wheezes, still trying to catch his breath. "I never knew there was such a thing."

"I didn't either until I learned the word." Christian finally calms, the laughter dying away. I try to come up with the next question, but it's getting harder to find new ones. "I think we've exhausted the store of valid 'favorite' questions. We probably should change tactics," I say.

"Oh? And what questions would you suggest?"

I think about it for a second, going for something random and of no consequence. "Worst injury you've ever had?"

And we're off, thinking of rapid fire questions and laughing at each other's answers. We go through the most trivial things, sticking to the basics. Twenty minutes later though, the questions have started to get more and more loaded.

"Tell me a fantasy," Christian suddenly murmurs when it's his turn again, absentmindedly fiddling with my fingers in his hand.

My eyes snap to his, taken off guard. His gaze is curious with something devious around the edges. "Fantasy?" I ask flatly.

He nods, and my heart picks up a few beats. "What kind of fantasy?" I ask, though I'm pretty sure I already know, hence the increase in heart rate.

He smiles wickedly. "Sexual." He says it in a sort of "what else could it be?" manner.

"Ugh. I should have known you'd find a way to make this about sex," I groan loudly, playfully complaining.

"You ask about my favorite word," he states. "But I'm not allowed to ask a much more valid question about sex?"

My face heats. It always puzzles me how he can just talk about sex as casually as the weather. Me – not so much. I try for evasion. "Well, I don't have any," I say, perhaps too quickly.

"Oh come on," he says, unconvinced. "There has to be something."

I keep my face as blank as possible, going for innocence and willing the blood away from my cheeks. He narrows his eyes a little. "Ana, you've had dreams about me with a riding crop and feeding you strawberries. You can't tell me you haven't imagined something in that mind of yours."

I drop my gaze, unable to meet his eyes all of a sudden. "There might have been one…" My voice is tiny, and I blush fifty shades of red saying this out loud. Christian cups my chin, drawing my face back up to his and pulling my lip from my teeth. His eyes are bright with excitement, knowing he's hit the jackpot.

"Well, now you have to tell me," he says.

I shake my head against the bed. "Nah uhhh."

"Is it that bad?"

My cheeks are burning. "No, I just don't want to say it."

"Why in the world not?"

I shrug as if there's no real reason, but the truth is I'm afraid of what he would think. Christian's experience and taste in sex is so far removed from mine that I'm sure our fantasies are nothing alike. Well, really I only have this one, which just makes me want to keep it to myself even more.

But he's having none of it. "Tell me, Anastasia." His tone takes on a stern edge. Then, as if he were just reading my thoughts, he adds, "Trust me, I'm the last person you have to worry about judging you for your thoughts about sex."

I sigh loudly, accepting defeat. "Okay okay," I say, rolling onto my back so I can look at the ceiling instead of him. "On the only occasion I've thought about this," I qualify firmly. "there was just one scenario that came to mind."

"Go on."

I sigh again, trying to decide how best to describe it without sounding like a total idiot. "Okay. Well, it's about the day I interviewed you." There, that's a start.

Christian inches closer, and when I don't go on right away, he prompts, "Okay. The interview. What about it?"

I draw in a breath. "In my head, I basically see the same thing happening as the first time. Just different…"

"Different how?"

"Well, first of all, I don't fall flat on my face before getting through the door," I say sardonically. "And this time I'm actually informed about who I'm interviewing." I look at him just long enough to smirk at him. "It's pretty much the same questions, same answers from you. Until…" I squirm, uncomfortable.

"You're killing me, Ana," Christian complains. "Until what?"

"Until the gay question," I whisper, covering my face with my hands and turning red again. Christian doesn't make any comment and after a moment, I chance a peak through my fingers. Only to find him staring at me with rapt attention.

"What happens after the gay question?" he asks salaciously.

I shrug. "That's sort of what makes it a sexual fantasy." God, could this get anymore embarrassing? "Like I said, I only ever thought about it once. Never really put much effort into the details."

Christian reaches over, pulling my hands away from my face and making me look at him. He smiles. "So your sex fantasy is to recreate the day we met?" he says slowly.

I nod, and his smile widens. "That is so…" _Ridiculous? Uncreative? Boring? _"…Hot."

I blink, surprised. "Really?" I can't help myself in asking.

He nods vigorously. "Yes. Really." He runs his finger over his lip, deep in thought. "What time did Mia tell you to be over at my parents' tomorrow for the wedding planning?" he asks suddenly.

"Ten," I answer.

"Hmmm," he hums. "Guess we'll just have to do it today, then."

"Do what?" I ask slowly.

His eyes flash back to mine, giving me a "what-do-you-think? look. "This fantasy of yours, of course."

_Oh. My. God. _"What do you mean 'do it today'?" I demand.

"Exactly what I said," he tells me. "You can't honestly think I wouldn't actually make it happen. Besides, it's brilliant. Ana, you just came up with the best scene I think I've ever heard."

_Is this seriously happening? _"But – I – today?" I stammer, too shocked to form a coherent protest – not that I'm sure I want to protest yet or not. I haven't had time to decide.

"Yes, today. Tomorrow you'll be trapped with Mia and my mom all day, no doubt. It's Saturday – there's no one there who would even care to notice. We'll have my office to ourselves, no disturbances. It's perfect."

I'm not sure if it's the idea itself, or the fact that Christian is so excited about it, but I can't bring myself to say no. Instead, I give a weak, "Okay."

Christian grins and the next thing I know is sliding out of bed. "Hey where are you going?" I pout.

He turns around by the bathroom door, waving his hand dismissively. "I need to take a shower and get ready. I have an interview with some college girl this afternoon." And he disappears inside.

I flop down onto the mattress. _Oh man, what did I just get myself into?_


	2. Chapter 2

A few hours later, I lean my hands against the counter of the restroom in the twentieth floor of Grey House. Christian's office. I take a deep breath, steadying myself. The more time that went by, it began to hit me that we were really doing this…role playing to a scene I unknowingly created. And the more time that passed as we got ready, the more butterflies that started swirling around my stomach.

Half of it's excitement, the other half is just plain nerves, almost a feeling of stage fright. I have a part to play, and I want to do my best at it. We haven't really discussed anymore details, but Christian did make a point of telling me that this was _my _fantasy so I should make it how I wanted. Which really only adds pressure because I'm still not even sure _what _ I want. _Calm down, Steele. Your man is indulging your sex fantasy. This is going to be fun._

"Okay," I mutter under my breath, taking a step back from the counter to check in the mirror once more. Christian insisted that I get ready in an upstairs bathroom, not wanting to see me until the actual moment. He also drove here on his own, leaving twenty minutes before me. Personally, I think it's all a bit much, but he apparently wants to make it as real as possible.

I did my part in helping with that by pulling out the article Kate wrote, picking through to remake the list of questions I originally asked. Now, I'm armed with the notepad, dressed in an outfit from the clothes Christian bought me. I chose a silky dark gray blouse unbuttoned much farther than would actually be appropriate for real business, tucked into a light gray knee-length pencil skirt and paired with four inch Louboutins.

I kept my hair and makeup relatively simple, adding some thin black eyeliner and pinning my hair up into a loose up-do. Altogether, a drastic improvement from the outfit I wore doing this the first time.

Another deep breath. _Showtime, baby. _I pick up the small leather bag with the list of questions and stride out of the bathroom with determination before I lose my resolve. The lobby is eerily empty, the desk Andrea usually sits at completely abandoned. I hesitate just outside of the door to Christian's office, arranging my features into a polite, formal expression. _You've never seen this man before. This is an interview. Play the part. _With that in mind, I bring my knuckle up and knock like he told me to do.

I take a tiny step back and wait for him to come to the door, looking around myself as if I've never seen the gigantic place before. The door opens and my attention snaps to the man in the threshold. _Remember, you've never seen him before. _

I turn my polite smile to Christian as he holds open the door, regarding me with cool gray eyes. Just one glance and I can tell he's in full-scale CEO mode, dressed in those damn gray dress pants that hang from his hips in that way, black tie, no jacket, hair just as messy as always…I swallow hard, realizing this might be harder than I thought it'd be to act the part.

"You must be Miss Kavanaugh," he observes. "Please, come in." He steps aside, letting me cross the doorway into his office just as I correct his assumption with more poise than I did the first time around.

"Actually, Miss Kavanaugh couldn't make it today so she sent me instead." I turn back to face him. "I'm Anastasia Steele." I extend my hand to him, and he takes it. But instead of shaking it, he raises it to his lips, placing a kiss on the back in a very gallant gesture. Two second in, and the feel of his lips on my skin already has me hot and bothered.

Somehow, I keep my face totally serious as if I really were just meeting him for the first time. _Amazing. _I silently pray I can keep it up.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Steele," he says, dropping my hand.

Christian closes the door behind him, and it doesn't escape my notice that he turns the lock even though the danger of someone walking in is slim to none. "Well Miss Steele, let's have a seat, shall we? And get this show on the road." He sweeps his arm toward the arrangement of white leather furniture and puts his hand on the small of my back to lead me over to it. The touch is small and seemingly innocent but combined with the circumstances, it sets off a frustrating little sense of need. To hide it, I make a show of looking around myself, admiring the sleek surroundings.

"This is a beautiful office." I compliment, my eyes straying over to the wall to find one of Jose's photographs of me hanging. I hadn't realized he put one in here so it takes a lot of effort to not let my surprise show as I take a seat in the same chair I sat in before.

"Thank you," Christian says graciously, sweeping across the room to sit opposite me as I fish out the notepad with the questions.

"Okay, Mr. Grey," I say formally, sitting back and crossing my legs with the pad on my lap. "This shouldn't take very long."

He gestures vaguely with his hand. "No, please, take as much time as you need, Miss Steele. I'm in no hurry." If this really were my first time meeting him, I wouldn't hear the silky undercurrent in his voice. But I do know him, and it makes the feeling of need grow. "Start whenever you're ready."

"Okay," I say to myself, scanning the paper for the first question I originally asked. I look back to him, going for a different approach this time. "You're twenty-eight, correct?"

He lifts one eyebrow and tilts his head, obviously not expecting this direction. "Yes, I am."

"That's an awfully short time in which to acquire what you have. What would you say has been the reason you've accomplished so much?"

The corners of his mouth twitch upward and he sighs almost ruefully. "I'm good with people." He shrugs, saying it like it's the simplest thing. "And business of any kind is about people – their likes, dislikes, their lifestyles, what makes them tick, what motivates them. And I'm very good at finding these things out so I know how to manage both my employees and my consumers." He stares at me, his gaze flinty. And expectant – he knows what's coming.

I take a breath, knowing my line written from the first time I did this. "You sound like a control freak."

He rests his elbows on the arms of the chair, steepling his fingers and tilting his head to the other side, his eyes dark and challenging. I shift in my seat, that look penetrating through me. "Control," he says slowly. "is important for all aspects of life. Not just business."

I swallow hard, dropping my eyes to the notepad again, my heart quickening. "Besides," he says, voice low. "great power only comes to those who know how to control it, use it."

I lift my eyes to meet his. "So you feel as if you wield great power?"

He smiles humorlessly. "Oh I know I do, Miss Steele." _Arrogant bastard. _I think amusedly, remembering how much he ticked me off with these answers the last time.

I raise my eyebrows to myself as I look down for another question. But apparently, my expression isn't as subtle as I thought it was. "Something wrong with that answer, Miss Steele?" he asks.

I look back up, deciding which way I want to play this. Innocent college girl, or defiant smart mouth? I choose one and hope for the best. "Humility, Mr. Grey," I say. "Something which that answer is horribly lacking in."

His eyes flash momentarily. "Audacity, Miss Steele," he counters. "Something which you seem to have too much of."

I blush crimson even though the rebuke is fake, but manage to feign guilt. "My apologies, Mr. Grey."

I quickly move onto the next question, my heart fluttering by now. "What do you do when you're not working? To relax?"

"I have varied interests outside of work," he says. "Various…physical hobbies." A ghost of a smile touches his features as if enjoying a private joke. And I know which 'physical hobby' he's thinking of…I unconsciously press my legs tighter together, picking up with the next question.

"Why do you invest so heavily in manufacturing?"

"Personal taste, really. I like knowing how things are built, all the inner workings that make things function. I've just expanded it into my business."

Again, I already know my line well, and don't miss a beat in saying it. "That sounds like your heart talking."

He smirks knowingly. "Maybe. Though some would say I don't have a heart."

"And why is that?" I ask curiously, smothering my usual dispute to this opinion. Though I know now that Christian is the only one who believes he doesn't have a heart.

"Because they know me well."

I stare at him for a long moment, ad libbing this next one. "Or maybe they just don't know you well enough." Because he never lets anyone in. He shrugs as if unconcerned.

"If you're so good with people, would you say you're easy to get to know?" I ask.

"I'm a very private person. So there are not many people I'm interested in 'getting to know'." Big fat _NO _for that question. I'm about to marry him, and I'm still trying to get to know him. God, if I had only known then what I know now…

"You're in manufacturing because it interests you. What about agriculture? You invest heavily in farming technology. Why?" _Because he's a good man who knows what it's like to go hungry…_

"Good business," he spouts out the same, formal response as he did during the first interview though I know it's just a façade now. "People are always going to need food, so there's always going to be a market for it."

I glance back down at the list and see the next question I originally asked was about his being adopted. But unlike the first time, I know what a sore subject that it, so I decide to skip it in attempt to not spoil this in any way. There's another about him having a philosophy but that's kind of boring so I decide to go with a something new, an approach to the last question…

"What about your love life?" I ask suddenly. "You're a very wealthy, good-looking, twenty-eight-year-old. Surely that has an impact on personal relationships?"

He blinks, momentarily surprised by my direction before he makes a show of looking severe. "Did I not just tell you that I'm a private person? I don't see how this is relevant to a college newspaper."

I cock my head to the side, feeling awfully mischievous. "Who says that question is for the paper?" I give him what I hope is a sultry stare.

His brows shoot up. "Off the record?" he asks. I nod. "It hasn't affected it one bit. I'm not interested in those sort of relationships. Some would say I'm married to my work."

For some reason, I'm a little miffed that he didn't just gush about how in love he was with his fiancé. Totally absurd, but as a woman, I can't help but feel jilted. I gesture over to the far wall that bares the black and white photograph from Jose's show. "In that case, who is she?" My tone is a tad sharper than I intended, and Christian fights a smile.

"Just a pretty picture." He shrugs.

"So no one special?"

He shakes his head. "What about you?"

"What about me?" I repeat, sounding confused.

"That's quite a rock on your finger," he notes, gesturing to it with his chin. "What's the story there?"

I smirk. _Two can play this little game. _"No story," I say innocently. "Just a pretty ring."

He raises his eyebrows and cocks his head to the side. "Surely a young woman like you has someone to go home to?"

"I'm just as single as you are, Mr. Grey," I qualify, letting the meaning sink in.

"Interesting," he murmurs to himself, then shifts to the other side of his seat. "Do you have any more questions for me, Miss Steele?"

"Just one," I say. He looks at me expectantly. _Well, here it goes…_ "Are you gay, Mr. Grey?" It's not quite as mortifying as the first time around, but I still cringe inwardly, knowing there's no way I could ever live that moment down.

Christian's eyes flare, and I know he's not faking it. He presses his lips together, radiating hard-won control. "No, Anastasia, I'm not gay." He leans forward. "But tell me, why all the interest in my love life? And now my sexual orientation?"

I lift one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Matter of public curiosity. There's no known instance of you ever being with a date – of any gender – even to big charity events where going alone is almost unheard of. I was just thinking you might lend an explanation as to why."

One corner of his mouth turns upward sardonically. "So you automatically assumed I'm gay?"

"People like to talk," I say. "and that's the only obvious conclusion that speculation can offer. Seeing as to how you've provided no evidence to the contrary."

"And my word isn't enough evidence?"

"People lie," I observe.

"You think I'm lying about not being gay?"

I shrug again. "I don't know you. I'm not saying anything."

"So what _would_ you say to a man people assumed to be gay who wanted to change their minds?"

My heart starts pounding, knowing this is it – my fantasy is about to happen. I swallow hard, butterflies returning to my stomach. "I'd say…" I trail off slowly, uncrossing my legs and leaning forward onto my knees. "Prove it."


	3. Chapter 3

_Holy shit. Did I just say that? I think I totally just said that. _And apparently so does Christian. His face darkens, his eyes flashing and turning dangerous. A look I know very well. A look that registers directly in a central part of my body.

"Prove it?" he repeats slowly. I nod my head numbly, the act I've been putting on slowly starting to slip around the edges. Damn it, I just can't concentrate when he's looking at me like that. Suddenly, he stands, taking two long steps so he's in front of me. He holds out his hand to me. "Come with me, Miss Steele."

Already desperately turned on, I place my hand in his, and he pulls me up from my seat. Holding my hand, he leads me away from the furniture, walking around his desk. He stops once we're in front of the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows, stepping behind me and putting both his hands on my shoulders.

"Look in front of you, Miss Steele," he says. "What do you see?"

I gulp. "A city." My voice is breathy, coated with anticipation.

"More specifically?"

"Seattle," I answer, wondering where the hell this is going, but loving it so far.

"Yes," he murmurs, his lips maddeningly close to my ear. "Seattle." He lets his hands fall from my shoulders and steps back around me so I can see him. "I literally overlook this city on a daily basis," he begins. "My company is the biggest on this coast. And I _do _wield more power than you know. And yet," he says with an amused smile. "You're saying I have to _prove _myself to you?"

The brazen confidence I felt just a minute ago is long gone, leaving me at a loss for words. "Um – I just –," I stammer, feeling a blush creep into my face. Christian's smile goes from amused to downright smug. He owns me. And he knows it. _God, this is so hot. _

"It takes real guts for someone to talk to me like that. You're a very brave woman, Anastasia." He reaches up and strokes my cheek. His fingers feel like they're scorching my skin. "I admire that."

He drops his hand, but takes a step closer to me, letting his eyes roam over me slowly. "In fact, there's a lot I admire about you." His voice is soft, seductive. And I'm a quivering mass of want, my body betraying the part I should still be playing.

"Is that so?" Somehow, I manage to keep my voice steady this time.

He leans forward, bringing his face down while I instinctively incline mine upward so we're close enough that I can feel his breath. "Mmm hmm," he hums, those gray eyes staring unblinkingly down into mine. He parts his lips, and I think he's going to kiss me. But as soon as I do, he pulls back and takes a sweeping step away, leaving me hanging and frustrated. He saunters causally over to his desk, turning and leaning against it, one leg in front of the other with his arms crossed. And a wicked glint to his eyes – he knows what he's doing. Damn him.

"So how would you suggest I 'prove it' to you, Miss Steele?" he asks.

_Oh, we're still playing it like that? Okay. _I clear my throat, finding my voice and squaring my shoulders. "Well." I step to the side and closer to him. "If you really are straight, then tell me what your ideal woman would be like?"

"Short, slim, brown hair, blue eyes," he says quickly.

I shake my head, taking another step toward him. "Too general," I say. "You have to be more specific, actually make it seem as if you're giving it some thought in order for me to believe you."

He sighs, his mouth curving into a soft smile. "Okay…she would be petite, just the right size to fit into my side," he begins softly, and I stop, thoroughly wanting to hear this. "Her body would be soft, curved. Touchable. She'd have long chestnut brown hair that I'd love to run my fingers through. And most importantly, her eyes…she'd have these impossibly big crystal blue eyes, lined with thick black lashes. So that every time she looked at me, it'd take my breath away."

I bite down hard on my lip, these big blue eyes looking down at my hands for a minute, shy all of a sudden. But Christian pushes away from his desk, going on. "And that's just physical," he says. "She'd also be gentle but strong; smart but not a know-it-all; sweet but not a push-over; innocent but not naïve." He takes a lazy step toward where I'm watching him, enraptured.

"She'd be loving and patient even when I least deserve it. She'd be stubborn and sassy when I act like an overbearing ass and wouldn't hesitate to put me in my place or speak her mind because she knows that's what I need. Her happiness would be my happiness." He comes closer, all hint of teasing or humor gone from his face. "Her tears would break my heart, and seeing her smile again would be the only thing to fix it." A step closer. "And her giggle…she'd have this adorable, girly giggle. But they wouldn't come easy." He smiles softly. "She'd make me work for each and every one of them before rewarding me with that beautiful sound." He's right in front of me now.

"She'd make me be a better man simply because that's what she deserved. And I would love her to the day I died."

I want to say something, but I can't. Because if I do, I will start crying any second. How did a hot sex fantasy suddenly turn into the most romantic declaration of love I've ever heard? I want to throw my arms around him and tell him all things that make me love him, and in a way, I guess I could if I wanted. But I really want to get through this scene the right way.

So rallying every ounce of willpower, I pull myself together, forcing the swell of emotion down. I take a deep breath. "Those are some pretty impossible standards, don't you think?"

He shakes his head. "Not impossible. Not if it's the right woman."

"You sound like a true romantic, Mr. Grey."

"I'm not trying to sound romantic. I'm trying to sound straight. So tell me, Miss Steele, are you convinced yet?"

"Not entirely. You could just be an incredibly smooth talker. And a good liar."

He inches closer, using his hand to caress my face again. "Well, Anastasia, I can hardly let you leave with that impression. So I suppose I'll have to find another way to persuade you."

Christian uses his hand to cradle the side of my face, tilting my head up with it as he brings his down to mine. "How about a personal demonstration?" he asks against my lips. My knees tremble and my stomach flutters.

"Of what exactly?" I whisper.

His other hand moves to my waist, pulling me flush with his body so I can now feel his rising erection. "Of how much I've wanted you since you walked through that door." His lips just barely brush across mine, the softest of touch. But it's enough to make an electric jolt pass through me, lighting everything inside me on fire with lust.

"I wouldn't exactly say no," I manage to get out. It does vaguely occur to me that even if this were our first time meeting and he came onto me like this, I still don't think I'd refuse him. I mean, morals and all previous standards kind of fly out the window when Christian's in a room, at least for me anyway.

The corners of his mouth lift triumphantly (as if there was ever any doubt). The next thing I know, his mouth catches mine, his lips forcing mine apart to give his tongue access inside. My arms grip his shoulders, my hand already tugging in his hair. My tongue meets his eagerly, trying to hold its own against his. Christian's hand moves to my rear, holding me tight against him as he spins and starts walking me backward.

When he stops, both of his hands go to my face, his teeth grazing my bottom lip, biting it gently as he pulls back. I open my eyes, breathless and needy, to find him smirking at me for some inexplicable reason. We're standing right in front of his desk, and he suddenly releases me, stepping away to walk around it.

I simply watch him move, forgetting momentarily how to form words in order to protest. He glides easily to his wide leather office chair, sitting opposite me. He adjusts himself discreetly in his pants, leaning back, looking calm and collected – and nothing like the raging inferno of desire I feel like. But I'm still too curious about what he's doing to say anything.

He gestures to me. "Strip." My mouth goes dry, muscles in the deepest part of me clenching and soaking the crotch of these designer panties.

_Hey! Whose fantasy is this? His or mine? _I raise my chin fractionally, hand on my hip. "Thought this was supposed to be a demonstration_ for_ me? Not _of_ me."

He smiles dangerously, his head moving close to his right shoulder. "I always like to see what I'm getting into first before doing anything rash. Plus, I'm not sure you want it bad enough. If I have to prove myself to you, then I think you should do the same for me."

I raise a brow. "Prove myself to you?"

His eyes hold mine. "Prove you want me." I almost combust, his words like auditory sex. _God, this man is just too hot. _

Excited, I reach for the zipper of the skirt but he stops me. "Nah uh." He inclines his head at me. "Blouse first."

With slightly shaky fingers, I reach for the first fastened button of my shirt, popping it open. "Slower," he says, voice low, serious. Obeying, I take my time moving to the next one, tantalizingly pulling it open little by little. On the third button, Christian reaches for his tie, pulling the knot out without taking his eyes from me.

Fourth button, and I watch as he leaves the tie hanging around his neck and undoes the first two buttons of his own shirt, just enough that the first signs of that springy chest hair on his sternum is visible.

Fifth button, and he toes off his dress shoes, leaving them under the desk before reaching for the buttons at his cuffs, releasing them as well. Christian's eyes suddenly move to my mouth, his eyes flaring and I realize that I'm biting my lip as I watch him undress. I get through the last button of my blouse, pulling the tail out of my skirt and slowly shrugging it off to land at my feet.

"Stop," he orders hoarsely. I freeze. "Take down your hair." I carefully reach up, releasing the small clip holding my hair up. It falls down past my shoulders, fanning out from being pulled back. His eyes grow wide, taking it in, and I notice he's gripping the chair's arms so hard that his knuckles are white. I almost smile with satisfaction.

"Skirt off. The shoes stay on," he orders. I move my hands to the zipper again just as Christian leans forward. With his eyes watching my fingers, he uses his arm to sweep across his desk, moving everything way over to the side. His desk is big enough for a conference table so there's plenty of room, nothing falling to the floor. _Ooh, on his desk? So. Hot._

He stops and sits back in his chair as soon as my skirt hits the floor. "Come here." I'm wearing just a matching set of lacey, black panties and a push-up bra and a pair of very high heels as I saunter around his desk. He swivels in his chair, watching me with eyes dark and blazing.

After what feels like an eternity, I come to a halt in front of him, standing between his knees. He doesn't touch me, just lets his eyes wander up and down my body, air between us charged with a very real electricity. Finally, he leans forward, bringing his face close to my sternum. Very softly, he brings his hands to my hips, with just enough pressure that his fingers are barely there as they stroke my skin. His eyes flicker up to mine, a mischievous little glimmer in their gray depths, before he brings his lips forward to kiss the valley right between my breasts.

They're there only a second before he pulls back, but to my delight, he just moves them lower, below the bottom of my bra. Another inch lower onto my stomach, another kiss. My hands slide onto his head, gripping his ruffled copper hair, and my eyes close, relishing the sensual warmth of his mouth. One of his hands moves from my hip, around me to trail up my back, and just as he places another kiss on my tummy, he deftly unhooks my bra with just a twitch of his fingers.

The material goes slack, and Christian pulls away, making my hands fall from his hair. He pulls my hips, pivoting me so that the edge of the desk is right behind me. His fingers glide up my arms, gently nudging the straps off my shoulders so that the bra simply falls to the floor. My nipples bead and harden in response to the touch of cool air.

"Hold out your hands and cross your wrists," he whispers. I do as he asks, squirming in place just slightly, desperate to feel some friction between my legs. With my heart hammering against my rib cage, I watch as he slides the black tie from around his neck, confirming what he's about to do. Sure enough, he starts draping it around my wrists, binding them together. With expert fingers, he ties the knot, the restraint firm but not uncomfortable. I look at my bound wrists, then back at him, smirking.

"I should have known you were one of those," I sigh, shaking my head in mock disapproval. He grins dangerously, slowly rising and pushing his chair back.

"Are you complaining?" he murmurs, leaning down closer to me.

"Not. At. All." I shake my head. Suddenly he grasps my hips, lifting and setting me onto his desk. He pushes my knees apart to stand between my legs as he lowers his face to me, his lips slanting over mine. Slowly, he leans forward, making me lean back until he has me lowered onto the hard surface of the desk.

Christian rocks his hips forward, his hard on grinding into me. I sigh into his kiss, bringing my tied hands up from between us, moving them behind his head so my arms are looped around his neck.

"Nah uh," he murmurs, shaking his head and breaking our kiss. He reaches behind him, grabbing my hands and lifting them from his neck, moving them above my head. He straightens up, pointing an index finger at me. "Stay."

_Yes, Sir. _I think to myself, watching as he stands and starts unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. I scowl at him. _I wanted to do that! _But my mental objection disappears as he tosses his shirt to the side, sitting back in his chair and rolling forward right in between my knees which are still hanging off the side of the desk.

One wide hand caresses up the outside of one leg, his lips brushing the inside of my thigh. My body tenses with anticipation as he guides the heel of one Louboutin to plant beside him on the chair. He takes his time, leisurely kissing upward, getting closer and closer to where I want him. Finally, mercifully, he arrives at his destination, planting a soft kiss directly onto my drenched panties, making me squirm.

Christian hooks his fingers in the waistband of the last piece of clothing I'm wearing, pulling and sliding the thin underwear down my hips and legs. He works them past the heels still on my feet and lets them drop to the floor.

A moan escapes me when he touches his mouth to me again, his tongue delving between the folds of my throbbing sex. His thumbs keep me spread open as he drives me insane with his mouth. My clit throbs with every heartbeat, swollen with anticipation. He licks me up and down, stimulating every last nerve ending until it feels like I might combust. I'm not sure how long he stays at it, but as soon as I feel the slightest quiver, the very beginnings of my body building toward release, he stops. I bite my lip hard to stop the cry of frustration.

His lips travel up onto my stomach, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses on my abdomen. He pauses and smiles up at me when he reaches my navel. "Omphaloskepsis," he mutters, kissing my belly button before continuing north.

Finally, he reaches the peak of my right breast, planting a tender kiss on my tight nipple before letting his hot mouth close around it, sucking hard. He grazes the sensitive skin with his teeth, drawing tight. The resulting sting is like a hot-line straight to my groin, exacerbating a deep empty ache in my core that can only be satisfied by him. He pulls away, tugging my nipple with him, and I arch up, wanting more – wanting to feel that little sensual bite again.

His hands move up my body, and I writhe beneath him, desperate. "Christian," I gasp. "Please." I don't care that this is suppose to be a game. I don't care that we're still technically role playing. I don't care that I'm laid naked across his office work space. All I care about is getting him inside me.

His lips crash down on mine in response, hungrily taking everything I give him. One hand moves above my head to twine his fingers with mine while one moves between us, reaching down to free himself of his trousers.

I spread my legs wider, desperate for him. I am liquid flame, every inch of me on fire for him. All I feel is lust and need. Pure, raw need.

He's above me, his mouth on mine, wild and wet and echoing my own desire even as the head of his cock slides over my sex, cruelly teasing me but not entering me.

I arch and writhe, begging him with my body, and when that doesn't work I nip his lower lip with my teeth and demand, "Now, Christian." After all, this was _my _fantasy.

I cry out in sheer exultation when he slams into me hard, his breathing suddenly harsh against my mouth. He balances himself with one hand on the desk while the other stays locked with mine, ensuring they stay put above my head.

My legs wrap around his hips as he thrusts into me, his body rubbing my clit with each motion. His broad chest pushes down into mine and presses my back into the desk, the hard, cool surface making me even more aware of Christian's enveloping warmth above me. My pelvis tilts to meet his every move, waves of pleasure racking through my body every time he fills me, hitting that deep ache just right, eradicating it.

I moan, absorbing every sensation, and use my fingers to squeeze Christian's hand. "That's it, baby," he pants above me, but slows his frantic pace down. Suddenly, I feel the tie tug at my wrists, then go slack before disappearing. Christian leans his forehead to mine, sweat beginning to form on his brow. "Touch me," he whispers, releasing my hands.

I swear just those two words alone almost makes me come, my muscles quivering as he continues to move inside me, slower now. He lifts up from me, his hands on either side of my face like he's doing a push-up. Gladly, I take advantage of the space he's given me, obeying his request and reaching between us. My fingers glide onto the skin of his chest until my palm is flat against his sternum.

Christian stiffens and thrusts into me harder with a low grunt, his brow creasing. It's only been just over a week, and Christian is still learning how to accept physical touch without fear and panic. Now, his face simply holds a look of hard concentration. I add my other hand, using both of them to stroke from his collar bones to his abdomen and back again. A shudder moves through his body with another violent thrust that makes me cry out, and his mouth finds mine once more as his body presses down on me again. My hands wander around to his shoulders, my arms wrapping around him and holding him to me as he picks up the pace again.

With every move of his body, he pushes me higher, taking me closer to the edge – until finally, a tremor starts at the center of my core, moving outward until every muscle is quaking, every nerve cell ready to fire off.

I squeeze my legs tighter around his hips, instinctively trying to control the sensation. "Come on, Ana," Christian urges as everything in me tenses like a spring coiled tight. He lifts his face, his eyes staring into mine with blistering heat. "I want to watch you," he pants. "Come for me, baby.– oh yes." He groans as my body explodes around his.

The intense feeling of release ripples through me, making me arch up and cry out and writhe with a wanton desperation that I can feel all the way in my toes. I'm not sure if I'm trying to escape this riot of sensation or if I'm trying to make it go on and on and on. All I know is that Christian still has not stopped pounding into me and the muscles of my sex are still spasming around him. I'm clawing at the skin of his back, frantically holding onto him as if I might lose myself in the overwhelming rush of sensations.

"_Christian,_" I moan as one final, violent jolt cuts through me just seconds before Christian finds his own release. He rams into me one last time, going completely still. "Ana." My name is a gasp of pleasure coming from his lips as he comes. He pants hard, his mouth forming a little O, and an expression that only comes from pure carnal satisfaction crosses his features.

I slowly loosen my death grip on him, going limp against the desk, as Christian comes down from his own climax-induced high. He lowers his face into the crook of my shoulder, his body weight pressing down into me, both of us sweaty and out of breath. I cradle the back of his head with my slightly shaky hand.

He's still inside me, but neither of us so much as moves – just lay together as we regain our bearings. Finally, I'm the first to break the silence. "Well," I breathe. "I think it's safe to say you are _not _gay."

Christian laughs out loud against my shoulder, his whole body shaking as he lifts his head to look at me with bright, happy eyes. "Glad I could clear that up for you, Miss Steele." He shifts onto his elbows and gingerly slides out of me, making my body feel almost hollow in comparison. He rolls to his side beside me on the desk, propping his head up on one elbow.

A strangely serious expression comes over his face. "I'm so glad you were the one to interview me that day."

"Me too." I smile coyly up at him. "Though I have to say – I think I like this version a little better."

He chuckles. "I think I might just have to agree with you."

A half hour later, we finally get ready to leave (after doing it again on the leather sofa). But just as Christian reaches for the door, I stop him, pulling his lips to mine for a deep kiss.

"What was that for?" he asks, surprised, when I pull back.

"That," I answer. "was for making me tell you about this fantasy. And fulfilling it way better than I expected."

He smiles. "Well, my mayonnaise-loving, science-hating girl – " he kisses my hair. "We aim to please."


End file.
